A Sparrow's Flight
by Salsa like Salome
Summary: Captain Jack Sparrow has returned to Port Royale, some five years after the redeeming of the Black Pearl. The ship has once again slipped from his grasp, or so it seems. First attempt, read read read. Update: Chapter 3 finally god!
1. The Early Bird Catches the Worm

Title: A Sparrow's Flight  
  
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and all of its characters are property of Disney. The interpretation of Captain Jack Sparrow is property of Johnny Depp, god bless the man.  
  
A/N: My first attempt at fan fiction, let alone PotC. Have fun with it kiddies, constructive criticism, plot suggestions, flames of hellfire. Whatever floats your boat; just give a hungry girl her feedback. It will be full of action and whatnot; this is just a bit of eye-candy to start off with.  
  
The Early Bird Catches the Worm  
  
The ship was close. Jack Sparrow stood on the dock, eyeing the vessel with a gaze that was equal parts dementia and calculation. His presence was the antithesis of the oiled rigging and polished brass buttons that surrounded him; even his stance, like a blade of grass curved beneath the pressure of wind, seemed to suck the sheen from the boots of the soldiers collected near the boats.  
  
What was the phrase? The early bird. it started like that, he was certain. He was flamboyantly disheveled, like a peacock drowned in dirty water. A bony finger was propped against his lip, the remaining digits splayed over a defined chin. A quantity of rings glittered garishly, so many that it seemed he had no place to put them save his fingers, though the voluminous quality of his garments rendered the idea quite impossible. The early bird. bloody hell. The tanned brow furrowed.  
  
He was plotting something. The change of expression was enough to solidify the suspicions housed permanently in the ambitious brain of the young lieutenant, who like all his comrades had been casting furtive glances at the man since he had sashayed onto the dock some ten minutes ago. Staring was for cabin boys, they were above such obvious displays of interest. They continued to bob their heads between their allotted posts and the man in an ill-fated attempt to remain officious. The young lieutenant nodded to himself and drew up his shoulders, moving briskly towards the felon he was about to catch in the act of planning his crime. His eyes were fixed on the profile, or rather the promotion that gleamed like a badge on the faded scarf the man had tied about the mess of matted black atop his head.  
  
The bird catches something. What do birds catch? Quite a few things come to think of it, mice, snakes, rabbits other birds. Depends on the type of bird, really. The early bird catches the rabbit. Curses, that wasn't right. The lips frowned, the angle of the 'v' of his mustache becoming more acute. Jack Sparrow had all but forgotten where he was, the docks, the soldiers, and the sea giving way to circles of bunnies and mice and other animals victimized by birds hopping and skittering about his head.  
  
"State your business!" The lieutenant's voice was what some might call authoritative, save a clumsy undertone of command without wisdom or experience. It was like being interrupted by someone who had tripped and used the nearest person to steady themselves, rather than the brisk, clean, tap of a military voice.  
  
"Pardon?" Sparrow turned toward the officer with half of his body, a motion that gravity shouldn't have allowed. The eyebrows elevated slightly, the frown giving way to an expression of bleary surprise, like a drunk revived by a slap to the face.  
  
The officer couldn't drag his eyes from the man's chin. The bejeweled hand dropped, revealing twin bunches of ornamented hair. They stayed militantly straight, defying the constant circular motion the man embodied. He had just begun to ponder what exactly could make them so rigid when the glint of the rapier sheathed at the man's side brought him back to his task. With a feeble clearing of his throat he resumed his discarded tone.  
  
"State your business!" It was too forced; the officer was scrambling to retain the pride that was leaking away beneath the placid amusement of the man's gaze. He felt like he was attempting a foreign tongue and having a bad time of it.  
  
"Are you going to be ill, mate?" Sparrow's eyes were doing all of the smiling, though the glint of gold that accompanied his speech seemed to suggest an offensive grin.  
  
"Were you or were you not intending to steal that ship!" The lieutenant abandoned formality, flinging his pointer finger dramatically at the vessel bobbing near the dock. He felt tarred and feathered by the man's dark eyes, clutching at the last of his dignity by delivering the accusation he had planned to surprise with.  
  
Ship? Sparrow swiveled again, and the officer fought the urge to reach out and steady him. Oh yes, that ship, that very pretty ship. The early bird catches the very pretty ship. That's how the phrase went, he was certain. It was well past early, but he was a bird, the ship was very pretty and he was going to catch it. He turned back to the officer, speaking in a way that was melodic in an intoxicated sense.  
  
"Well, lad, steal isn't really the word I'd use. See I wasn't planning on stealing the ship. I was planning on-"  
  
"Commandeering?"  
  
This time Sparrow's turn was so violently inebriated that he nearly fell. He hadn't heard that voice for some five years or so, the measured cadence disguising an amusement revealed only to Jack. He squinted over the shoulder of the confused lieutenant, the dark luminescence of his eyes disappearing, lashes blending with the years of charcoal collected on his lids.  
  
Will Turner smiled. "I'll take care of this one." He nodded dismissively to the lieutenant, who gave him a look of bewildered deflation before skulking back to his comrades in an absurd imitation of a disciplined march. The blacksmith turned back to the pirate, who he knew was shocked despite the scant change in expression.  
  
"Captain Jack Sparrow. It's been far too long." 


	2. To Bake a Cake

Title: A Sparrow's Flight  
  
Disclaimer: These pirates be Disney's. The Sparrow be Johnny's!  
  
A/N: Thank you for such prompt reviews! I feel special. This chapter really covers the reintroduction of Elizabeth. The juicy stuff will come with chapter three! Have faith and patience, lovies, the action and adventure I promised would be here before you know it. Must have the proper set up, you know. I hunger for feedback. Pointers pointers pointers for a beginner, por favor. Enjoy!  
  
To Bake a Cake  
  
The cake would turn out perfectly. Elizabeth Turner wiped her flowered hands on the cloth that covered the slight swell of her stomach, the dust on pale blue fabric giving the impression that she had plucked a piece of the sky and used it as her apron. She turned to the oven and stopped, squaring her shoulders. It was a simple almond cake, there was no reason it shouldn't be beautiful. And when Will returned from the smithy he would love it and she could be content. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she would rather face a thousand armed corpses than open that oven and face another failure.  
  
You're being silly she told herself behind closed lids. Go to the oven and open it, take out your cake and make it presentable. Elizabeth nodded, eyes opening, and marched toward the closed door in much the same manner as a prisoner heading to the gallows. She reached out a hand like a nervous cat returning to prey that had fought back before it fell dead. In one swoop of motion she threw down the latch, opened the door and immediately began to cough.  
  
A wave of acrid gray assaulted eyes the color of well-steeped tea, tears slicking their surface in protest. Her hand fluttered forward, the competence of her gestures disappearing with the smoke out of the open window. She lifted the cake from the blackened cave, setting it on the wooden table with a dull clatter. The remainder of the smoke dissipated from the open oven as she sank into a chair opposite her charred mess of ingredients, a failed domestic defeated by a cake.  
  
"Yo-ho." Her gaze slid out the window, to the mild glitter of harbor beyond. "Yo-ho." Her voice was almost inaudible, ringing with odd girlishness. "A pirates' life for me." Why the bars of the familiar song should resurface after so many years eluded her; she was conscious only of the way her dead tone made the jovial song sound like mockery. She untied the apron and let it fall to the floor, the fingerprint clouds fading into an air scented with lingering smoke.  
  
~*~  
  
"I see you still have the penchant for silly hats," Jack said, more to the burgundy plume that topped the tri-cornered number than to the person who wore it.  
  
"I see you still have the penchant for rum," Will retorted. Jack's swagger was all the more comical next to the blacksmith's easy stride, like partners attempting entirely different dance steps to the same song.  
  
"S'not a penchant, m'lad. Rum is more vital to me existence than me own blood." Will smiled. They were walking away from the docks, a path that had taken some convincing for the corsair. It seemed his sea legs worsened the farther he traveled from the brine. The cobblestones gave way to gravel and dirt, the road ascending gently to a house nestled on a hill overlooking the harbor town. It was of fair proportions, though even these seemed modest in comparison to the Governor's mansion, which sat slightly close for Will's comfort.  
  
"Jack?" Will kept his eyes forward. "Would you mind telling me why you're without The Pearl?" His voice couldn't decide whether it was curious or worried.  
  
"In good time, bucko, in good time. It's only right that your bonnie learns of it when you do." The tone was uncharacteristically grave, or so it seemed to Will, who found he was scrambling to retain the curiosity and not give in completely to the overwhelming surge of the latter emotion. A disconcerting quiet settled, broken when Jack began to sniff.  
  
"Smell's like the rigging's ablaze." Will's gaze had fallen to the gleaming buckles of his shoes; he lifted his eyes to the house, where a dying slip of pale smoke issued from the kitchen window. His stride quickened, despite the harmlessness of the smoke's color. He called over his shoulder to Jack, who had begun an odd sort of lope to catch up with him, voice sounding resigned.  
  
"Elizabeth's been baking." 


	3. Bad Luck to Bring a Woman Aboard

Title: A Sparrow's Flight  
  
Disclaimer: Disney thought of Pirates. Johnny thought of Le Sparrow.  
  
A/N: First of all, thank you so much for all of the reviews! I am so encouraged by all this hoo-ha! I only hope that my story will sate your appetites. Apologies for the shorter chapters in the beginning, it was merely the tedious process of reintroducing the characters and their situations. The chapters will be longer now, as there is more ground to cover. Don't worry about dear Jackie falling in love, he'll only have lots of unprotected sex! Dear Sparrow can't be bothered with that emotional pishtosh. I hope I don't estrange any fans of certain characters in this chapter. Have faith in me! I'm merely going by what impressions the movie gave me, plus a little bonafied pirate history. Flame away, if you so desire. I saw it again today! Erm, anyhow here's chapter three, enjoy! And feedbackfeedbackfeedback, I need it, y'see!  
  
Bad Luck to Bring a Woman Aboard.  
  
Elizabeth had been crying. Will knew it the moment he saw her face, which looked as if someone had applied sparse strokes of rouge around her eyes. The smoke had gone, but a caustic odor still hung in the air, due in part to the blackened cake that sat on the table. Will chose to ignore the ruined confection and went straight to his wife, the fact that Jack would follow shortly deserting him in the face of what was obviously one of Elizabeth's moods. They had grown more frequent and more intense in the past three or four months, a fact that he blamed on her pregnancy.  
  
"Darling, I smelled the smoke. Are you alright?" He dropped to one knee before her, taking her hands capably. The calloused roughness of his fingers counteracted the extreme tenderness of the touch, and Elizabeth found herself smiling. She forgot some of her discontent.  
  
"I'm perfectly fine." His gaze was so unabashedly concerned that she managed to retain control of her voice. She also neglected to mention the cake, knowing it could send the leveled gentleness into a quavering mess. A hand freed itself, moving forward and tracing the smooth line of his jaw, then upward to the vibrant softness of the hat's plume. Elizabeth never objected to his choice of headwear; the outlandish hats reminded her of piracy and all that it implied, a fact she never divulged.  
  
Will reached up and halted her hand's progress, using the other to remove the hat. With delicate firmness he pulled her from the chair and onto her knees before him, fingers brushing the swan's neck before they cradled a cheek, the clean softness of her hair teasing his fingertips. He claimed her lips with deliberate care, in the same manner as a painter placing the final stroke on a masterpiece. The last thing she always saw was his eyes; eyes she always associated with these kisses and the color of the coffee the merchants carried on their boats.  
  
"Y'know, love, this biscuit you've made isn't half bad." The two shied apart, like deer reacting to a pistol shot. Jack sat on the table, rotating his ankles to the rhythm of his meticulous chewing. He removed another piece of crumbling black from the cake and raised it halfway to his mouth, pausing when their stares penetrated his brain. His hands were already offering flourished apologies before he began speaking.  
  
"Oh no, by all means continue. It's quite entertaining; ticket sales might be a good idea. Serve this treat and you'd make a right killing."  
  
"Do you mind, Captain?" Will was first to break the answering silence, the title receiving delicate stress.  
  
"Jack?" Elizabeth got to her feet, leaving a deflated Will to help himself up. Her anger, the cake-induced frustration and Will's comfort fled in the wake of shock.  
  
"Could've used a bit more sugar, perhaps." Jack was still nibbling pensively, oblivious to her astonishment and tentative advance toward him.  
  
"Jack Sparrow! I thought I'd never see you again!" Elizabeth sprinted the remaining distance, throwing her arms around his neck like a wildcat leaping on its unsuspecting prey. Rum, brine and sweat barraged her senses, giving the weight on her shoulders a tantalizing lift.  
  
"Captain! Captain Jack Sparrow!" Jack muttered the habitual correction, arms flailing. Elizabeth's release came almost as quickly as the embrace, leaving Jack steadying himself on the fine-grained wood of the table edge and looking decidedly relieved.  
  
"What are you doing here?" She was grinning incredulously. Will was standing beside her now, his expression implying the same question.  
  
"That's what I was getting to, love. I had to make sure you were here before I recounted the whole thing. I must say I'm rather pleased that you haven't abandoned Dear William and his pretty hats. He doesn't still spend so much time playing with swords, I hope? You're married now, don't really have any excuses left, unless he really is a eunuch." Will cleared his throat. Elizabeth continued to smile; even his ramblings drew her that much closer to the life she had deserted for domesticity's sake.  
  
"I'm pregnant, Jack."  
  
"Blimey, really? Doesn't show yet, still looks like I could break you in half. But The Pearl, yes, that business!" He shoved his train of thought laboriously back onto its track after yet another pointed look from Will. "Perhaps we should sit."  
  
Elizabeth nodded and led them into the dining room, seating herself promptly, followed shortly by Will. Neither were able to disguise their impatience, nor their exasperation at the amount of time Jack took to join them. The corsair was amusing himself with the pattern of the dining room wallpaper, then the fine silver candelabra, a wedding present from her father. He seemed to be inspecting his reflection in the gleaming metal when Will spoke, sounding like a schoolmarm having her patience tried by a particularly unruly pupil.  
  
"At your leisure, Captain Sparrow." Jack glanced up and froze; looking like their impatience was a profoundly puzzling idea. He set the candelabra down gingerly, like a museum visitor who had received a scolding from the curator for touching a priceless artifact, and then sat himself on the polished mahogany tabletop.  
  
"I hope all this waiting hasn't given you any false pretenses about my situation. It's only the usual betrayal and abandonment, which is becoming quite the happy little tradition. Now don't look so shocked, save that for later. When I left you two to have your babies, I commanded the crew back to Isle de Muerta to remove any undead pirate stench and put that blasted gold in a place where it wouldn't tempt any greedy blackguards. We sailed again when we had reclaimed the place, returning to Tortuga every so often so the crew could disperse and have there own lovely little frolics. We carried on like this for the next few years.  
  
"Just when I made the mistake of beginning to admire the loyalty of me crew, Ana Maria turned wench on me and started parroting on about how she was tired of 'playing the good pirate' or some ridiculous bilge like that. She brought up the lovely little matter o' the ship I borrowed a few times, but I had thought that we had certainly put that behind us. Despite all her moaning, she never committed any acts of violence against meself or me crew, so I found no real reason to suffer her more than a few warnings. Another mistake.  
  
"A few months ago we stopped at Tortuga and dispersed to fritter our pre sailing time away, then collected on our boat as usual. During the next weeks Ana Maria took quite the turn and became a right angel, uttering ne'er a word. Should've seen it coming, now that I look back at all this. Anyhow, a month or so ago we returned to Isle de Muerta to relieve The Pearl of a bit o' her cargo, and found a lovely little surprise waiting in the harbor. Captain Jim Reed and his ship, The Silver Cutlass, crewed by two-score bloodthirsty scallywags. Ana Maria is quite friendly with Redblade, as Jim is known. She met him in Tortuga at one point, and made a pretty little deal with him on our last visit.  
  
"Redblade crewed The Black Pearl before Barbossa turned mutinous, and left her before the bastard got his ruddy hands on that gold. He was with her long enough to know the route to Isle de Muerta, and to acquire a lovely little dislike of yours truly. He left of his own accord, and I hadn't seen him since. So you can imagine my elation when he sat waiting for us, cannons at the ready.  
  
"Ana Maria and the few followers she had weaseled away from me played nice until The Cutlass drew close enough for them to board her. Then they turned traitorous and drew blades against us, leaving the Pearl sorely under crewed. The short and short of it is, they had their victory, and gave dear Jack another of his own personal Caribbean islands. They had the grace to give me pistol a new shot before they sailed off. Redblade and that traitorous wench captain The Cutlass and The Pearl now; and crew members who remained loyal to me were given there own parcels of land or shot.  
  
"As history shows, obscure little islands can't hold Captain Sparrow overlong." At this point Elizabeth could have sworn he shot her a warning glance. "Which brings us to now. 'M back at Port Royale by way of land, which is absolute hell I might mention, and I seek the assistance of my loyal companions." He finished with a deep bow, hands adding their own superfluous flourishes.  
  
"We'll leave tonight!" Elizabeth shot up with such fervor that her chair nearly toppled over, Will steadied it, then caught her arm.  
  
"It will require more planning than that, and you won't be accompanying us."  
  
"What?" Elizabeth looked as if he had slapped her. Jack, too, looked mildly surprised, but said nothing.  
  
"I said you're staying here." Will continued with finite firmness; his eyes, however, were pleading with her. "It's far too dangerous and you're with child. Darling, please," the resolve slipped away, her incensed expression having the affect of a gale on a sand dune. "I can't lose you. And think of our child, please."  
  
"And what if you die! You think I'll sit at home wondering if you've fallen victim to a rusty blade? And you want me to think of the child! Well what if the child is born fatherless, what of that? And you know perfectly well that I can fend for myself in battle, William Turner!" Dots of white colored the knuckles of clenched fists, like two miniature snow- capped mountain ranges.  
  
"Darling, please don't be dramatic." For a moment he looked resigned, then his expression hardened. "I won't have you going. That's final." He stood, his voice rising. Elizabeth refused to be intimated by his sudden height; he thought for a moment that she would strike him.  
  
"Fine." The utterance was venomous, a breath away from his face, the intimacy a perversion of what he was accustomed to. Elizabeth spun on her heel and returned to the kitchen, the slam of the door causing Will to flinch. The chair wavered again, and this time he let it fall, his head bowing with the muted thud of wood against rug.  
  
"I believe that could have been handled more delicately, mate." Jack still lounged cat-like on the tabletop, but his eyes conveyed a vague seriousness.  
  
"It was for the best," Will snapped. There was a pause, broken by a tired sigh from the blacksmith. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Water off me back, lad."  
  
"Jack," Will spoke, turning to face him.  
  
"Hmm?'  
  
"How did you get off the island?" Jack sat up, a glimmer of gold accompanying a smirk.  
  
"Sea turtles."  
  
~*~  
  
Elizabeth stood alone in the kitchen. Her anger was palpable, she felt that if she put a hand to her wrist it would burn her. There was a haze around her vision, the fury and pain hung in the air, slipping through fissures in her body, in her skull, in her eyes. She turned; Will's hat lay on the ground in the corner where he had left it. The plume was garish in a room of monotonous color; it was taunting her with Will's voice. She marched to the hat and picked it up, then ripped the plume from the stitching without so much as a frustrated growl. She held it for a moment, the feathers crushed in her grip, then let it fall. It floated gently to the wood flooring, like an ostentatious snowflake.  
  
But Elizabeth had forgotten the feather. She was suddenly transfixed by the hat she held in her left hand; a man's hat. The pain and anger subsided, harboring themselves as her industrious brain began to work. She set the hat on the table and picked up her cake. Crossing to the window, she threw open the shutter and dumped the charred confection off of the platter, then closed the shutter and set the dish on the table with mechanical precision. Elizabeth retrieved the hat and tucked it under her arm, exiting the kitchen in a fashion that could only be described as military.  
  
She would go. 


End file.
